


the lights in this town, they don't brighten up anything

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Reboot, Tim Drake is Not Okay, but he's getting there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:40:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: If everything is good, why does Tim still feel so bad?
Relationships: Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 16
Kudos: 157





	the lights in this town, they don't brighten up anything

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Among Other Foolish Things" by Brian Fallon.

Steph is alive. Bart is alive. _Kon_ is alive. Even Bruce is alive, and Tim is going to be saying, "I told you so" to everyone he knows for the rest of their lives and beyond, because nobody believed him. Sometimes, he didn't even believe himself, but he kept going, kept searching for hints—anything to keep him moving—because that's all he had left after Dick took Robin away. After everyone else died. He'd been afraid if he stopped moving, he'd die too. And not just because Ra's kept trying to kill him.

And now they're not dead. Somehow that's even harder to believe, even with the evidence of his own eyes and hands. He's made sure to hug all of them, taken hair and blood and saliva samples to prove that for once, even though it's too good to be true, it's still _good_ and _true_. And then he let go, afraid of clinging too tightly.

Kon was in the future, healing, being a hero, and he'll never know how desperately, _achingly_ Tim had missed him.

Steph was in Africa, and it's going to be a while before he gets over the sting of that betrayal, even though he knows it's not totally her fault.

Bart is even more himself than before, somehow, and while everyone on the team can all see his blurred edges fraying, nobody says anything. They're all just glad to have him back. 

Bruce had been lost in the time stream, and leaving clues that only Tim was clever enough—desperate enough—to see and put together, and now he's jetting off to Europe with Selina instead of taking care of Gotham (of his fractured family) like they all expected him to.

"I'm leaving Gotham in your capable hands," he'd said to Dick, and Tim, and Babs.

Babs had accepted it as her due—it's what she's always done, with or without Bruce's blessing. Dick had looked poleaxed, still and pale with shock, ready to hand over the cowl only to be told to carry its weight a little longer. And Tim had smiled tightly and agreed to help. Then he'd gone off and built his nest and his bunker, grateful when Cass came home to stay so he didn't feel like he was the odd third wheel attached to Batman and Robin. She had her own issues to work out with Steph, and he knew Steph well enough to know that she wouldn't let them fester, not the way he was, the way he'd shoved down everything that had happened over the last year deep into a locked box somewhere behind his ribs.

Tim knows he needs to make peace with Dick, with Steph, with himself. It's just not the right time. It's never the right time. It's easier to act like it never happened. There are so many things he'd like to pretend didn't happen, and now that everyone's alive again, that's what he does.

Kon especially can never know about all the stupid, desperate things Tim did while he was gone. And for all they joke about it, Kon's _not_ stupid—Tim can tell he's picked up on all the tension between him and Cassie, the weird pauses as they skirt around the things they did while he and Bart were dead. 

"Not dead," Kon corrects them, gently at first and then with fond exasperation. "In the future."

"You don't understand," Cassie replies every time, by turns angry, tired, and sad. "You don't _know_ what it was like."

Tim thinks he _can't_ understand. While he was off in the future with the Legion of Superheroes, Tim and Cassie were trying to put themselves back together without Kon and Bart, and everyone else that they'd lost. They were like a puzzle with too many missing pieces—they could tell what it was supposed to be, but it never managed to actually _be_ it. They never fit together the same way with all those empty spaces yawning between them.

Tim had wondered sometimes, during long, lonely, sleepless nights in the middle of nowhere, on a trail no one but him could see, if this was his supervillain origin story, if the seeds of the murderous Batman he'd become in the future had been planted while he was fighting the League of Assassins on his own.

He'd made a lot of promises then, mostly to himself, about what he would do when he got Bruce back, when he got back to Gotham. He'd be a better teammate, friend, brother. He'd keep his inappropriate crush on Kon under control and not let it interfere with team dynamics. He wouldn't hold Dick's disbelief and betrayal against him. He'd suck it up and deal with Damian being Robin, if only he could get Bruce back and have some semblance of a family again.

Funny how that's worked out. There are more of them than ever in the Cave now—Steph is Batgirl, Cass is back from Hong Kong and going out as Black Bat. Even Jason shows up every once in a while and hasn't burned the house down. He hasn't even killed anyone in months. But Tim doesn't live in the manor anymore. He has his own place, and his own cases, and his job as CEO of Wayne Enterprises.

Everything is good. Everything is great. But he still can't sleep and when he does, he wakes in a cold sweat. It takes him a moment to remember that he's not back in that lab where he'd tried to clone Kon, back in the Cave when Dick had told taken Robin away. Back at his mother's funeral, his comatose father's bedside. Too little, too late. Never good enough, always a placeholder, just trying to keep the colors warm between the dead son and the blood son.

He must have made a noise in his sleep, because when he wakes up this time, he's not alone in his room.

"You okay?" Kon asks, hovering at the end of the bed.

"Fine," he says, his voice more of a croak than a whisper. He reaches for the bottle of water on the nightstand and takes a sip before repeating, "I'm fine."

"Well, you look terrible." The left corner of Kon's mouth ticks up in a lopsided half-smile.

Tim blinks. "Thank you. Thank you so much for breaking into my bedroom at oh-dark-thirty to insult me."

"That's what friends are for." Kon glides closer and then sits on the edge of the bed. 

"With friends like these," Tim murmurs, but his own mouth wants to curve in a smile now too, and for once, he lets it. 

He should remind Kon that metas aren't allowed in Gotham, that it's weird and stalkery to keep an ear out for his friends while they're sleeping, but he's just glad Kon's around to be a creeper again, and it's not like Tim doesn't have his whole team under surveillance himself. And Bruce is in Europe, so Tim has no problem flouting his rules.

Kon is still watching him closely though, so he keeps those thoughts off his face.

"Seriously, though. When was the last time you saw the sun? I've met vampires who looked more alive than you."

"Just because you photosynthesize doesn't mean everyone else does."

Kon snorts. "I'm not talking about me, but we both know if I looked as wrecked as you do right now, you'd bench me."

Tim fights the urge to fidget under Kon's clear-eyed gaze. Finally he draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. He lets the silence stretch, knowing Kon will fill it.

"You need some actual sunlight, not just the sickly glow of neon and fluorescent that passes for light in this city. That's just science."

Tim huffs, unwillingly amused at this appeal to his sense of logic.

"You know you can tell me anything," Kon continues.

Tim stares down at his blanket-covered knees, his knuckles scabbed over from patrol earlier in the evening. "I'm okay. I'm just—" He sucks in a deep, shuddering breath, past the tightness in his chest. "I still have nightmares," he admits.

"I know."

He glances up and meets Kon's gaze for a second. There's no judgement there, and he's not sure why he thought there would be.

"Last year—it was—it was bad."

"I know," Kon repeats, his voice soft and reassuring. It's the voice he uses with traumatized kids, which is somehow worse than his usual teasing.

"You _can't_ know." The words burst out before Tim can stop them and he clamps his mouth shut on the rant that wants to follow.

Kon nods. "You're right. I can't. I can't even imagine. Is it wrong to be glad I went first, so I didn't have to deal with the rest?"

"Yes," Tim says fiercely, and then, "no. I don't want to be the only one left."

"Tim—" Kon reaches out, hesitantly, and puts a hand on Tim's wrist. "You aren't."

"I know. I know." Tim can feel panic clawing its way up the back of his throat and he curls his hands into fists, trying to hold it back. "But sometimes it still feels like I am."

He waits for Kon to tell him that it's his own fault; he's the one avoiding his friends and his family, the one filling his schedule with meetings and stakeouts and training, all so he doesn't have to keep acting like everything's back to normal when the façade is crumbling all around him and nobody even seems to notice. 

Instead, Kon takes his hand and gently tugs it open so he can press their palms together and entwine their fingers. His skin is warm and smooth against Tim's sweaty, callused palm. 

"I'm here now." He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing, and looks away for a moment. "You should come with me to the farm for the weekend."

"What? Kon, I have work and patrol. I can't—"

"You can. Gotham will survive without you for a few days. Call Alfred and let him know. Ma will be thrilled to feed you up and force you out of the house to get some sun."

"Oh, I see how it is," Tim says, trying for sarcasm and failing when his voice cracks. "You just want to pawn off all your chores on me."

"That's exactly it." Kon tips him an exaggerated wink. "You can weed and mow and plow, and I'll kick back and relax with a beer."

"Mrs. Kent doesn't let you drink."

"With some iced tea, then. Fresh-brewed on the back porch. Sweetened with local honey." He grins. "Ma's thinking of keeping bees, since I'm not likely to get stung."

Tim closes his eyes and tries not to be tempted. He thinks about his schedule—Fridays are usually light days. Tam could move most of his meetings, make the ones that can't be moved remote. And Cass would take over his patrol route if he asked. 

"Come on, Tim." Kon squeezes his hand gently, coaxingly. "It'll be good."

The vise around his chest loosens a little, and he takes another deep breath, and lets it out slowly.

"Okay." He gives Kon a tight smile. "Can we—can we just sit here for a minute first?"

"Sure." Kon gives his hand another quick squeeze. "Whatever you need."

Tim takes a breath and then another one, and concentrates on the feel of Kon's hand in his, lets himself lean against the warm and solid strength of Kon's body and listen to the steady beat of his heart.

"I'm here," Kon murmurs. "I got you." 

Tim hums noncommittally in response. He knows it's true, intellectually. He hates having to admit, even to himself, that emotionally, he still can't quite believe it. He's still waiting, on some level, for the other shoe to drop.

Maybe some time at the Kent farm will help.

He can hear the distant sound of so-late-it's-early traffic, Gotham rousing from her brief, uneasy slumber, and the soft whoosh of his breathing and Kon's, slow and synced now that he's not paying such close attention to it. 

Tim is usually good at keeping track of time without a clock—he learned that lesson young and it's been useful in his vigilante life—but he's not sure how long they sit there in silence, breathing in tandem. He waits for some obscure signal that he could never properly articulate if asked, but he knows it when he feels it, like the satisfying click of a plan slotting into place, a clue suddenly cracking a case open, a certainty deep in his bones that Kon is really back and they're going to be okay. At least for now.

He kicks off the blankets and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. "Let's go." 

He grabs his go bag from the hall closet and doesn't squeak when Kon sweeps him up into his arms. He grins as they take off from the roof, and with the cool pre-dawn breeze in his hair, Tim lets himself relax. For now, Kon's got him.


End file.
